The stranger at my fireside cannot see The forms I see, nor hear the sounds I hear; He but perceives what is; while unto me All that has been is visible and clear. We have no title-deeds to house or lands; The spirit-world around this world of sense A vital breath of more ethereal air. Our little lives are kept in equipoise These perturbations, this perpetual jar And as the moon from some dark gate of cloud So from the world of spirits there descends IN THE CHURCHYARD AT CAMBRIDGE. IN the village churchyard she lies, Dust is in her beautiful eyes, No more she breathes, nor feels, nor stirs; At her feet and at her head Lies a slave to attend the dead, But their dust is white as hers. Was she a lady of high degree, And foolish pomp of this world of ours? And lowliness and humility, The richest and rarest of all dowers? Who shall tell us? No one speaks; At the rude question we have asked; By those who are sleeping at her side. Hereafter? And do you think to look To find her failings, faults, and errors ? THE EMPEROR'S BIRD'S-NEST. ONCE the Emperor Charles of Spain, Long besieged, in mud and rain, Some old frontier town of Flanders. Up and down the dreary camp, Cursed the Frenchmen, cursed the weather. Thus as to and fro they went, Over upland and through hollow, Giving their impatience vent, Yes, it was a swallow's nest, Built of clay and hair of horses, Mane, or tail, or dragoon's crest, Found on hedge-rows east and west, After skirmish of the forces. Then an old Hidalgo said, As he twirled his gray mustachio, Hearing his imperial name Coupled with those words of malice, Half in anger, half in shame, Forth the great campaigner came Slowly from his canvas palace. "Let no hand the bird molest," "T is the wife of some deserter!" Swift as bowstring speeds a shaft, At the Emperor's pleasant humor. So unharmed and unafraid Sat the swallow still and brooded, Through the walls a breach had made, Then the army, elsewhere bent, Only not the Emperor's tent, Very curtly, "Leave it standing!" So it stood there all alone, Loosely flapping, torn and tattered, Which the cannon-shot had shattered. THE TWO ANGELS. Two angels, one of Life and one of Death, Their attitude and aspect were the same, Alike their features and their robes of white; But one was crowned with amaranth, as with flame, And one with asphodels, like flakes of light. I saw them pause on their celestial way; And he who wore the crown of asphodels, I recognized the nameless agony, The terror and the tremor and the pain, That oft before had filled or haunted me, And now returned with threefold strength again. The door I opened to my heavenly guest, And listened, for I thought I heard God's voice; Then with a smile, that filled the house with light, 'T was at thy door, O friend! and not at mine, The angel with the amaranthine wreath, Pausing, descended, and with voice divine, Whispered a word that had a sound like Death. Then fell upon the house a sudden gloom, |